


Cemented

by jennytork



Series: Dean Has Asperger's AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean Has Aspergers, Gen, John Winchester's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:18:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennytork/pseuds/jennytork
Summary: Dean's first hunt at age 16 serves only to cement all their roles in the already slightly dysfunctional family.





	Cemented

**Author's Note:**

> While many of Dean's 'issues' are seen through the lens of my own Asperger's, a few things are unique to him. Not everyone with Asperger's has the exact same "flavour" of it, and I hope that's reflected here.

CEMENTED

The small motel room in Ohio was filled with a buzz of sheer excitement. Weapons were checked and re-checked – two, three times a day. Supplies were inventoried, checked, and inventoried again.

Strategy and tactics were hashed and re-hashed and tackled from every conceiveable angle. Sparring and practice and conditioning all stepped up a notch in frequency, intensity and duration.

Every Winchester was excited. Even Sam – who usually complained up a storm – had caught the vibe in the air and was a full, willing participant in the preparations, though he would not be going on the actual hunt.

It was springtime in Ohio. Dean had just turned sixteen that January, and for the first time, John was taking him on a a full-fledged hunt!

Underpinning the excitement was a shimmery current of worry. The entire family dynamic had been turned on its ear five years earlier, when Dean had been diagnosed as having Asperger's Syndrome. To the community at large, that made him a very high functioning autistic.

To John, that meant a medical reason why his son could be so bright in certain areas and such an idiot in others. It also meant training his younger son to manage his brother so John would be free to hunt.

To Dean, that meant his father saw him as "wrong" now, and he was determined to be the best he could be so Dad would love him again.

To Sam, it didn't mean a thing. Dean hadn't changed at all – he just had a few labels now. Those strange, painful times that Dean had were "sensory spikes". Each of the new techniques to make Dean's life easier had a name. And, overall, Dean himself bore the label "autistic".

But to Sam, he was always just Dean. They took care of each other now, and when Dad was gone was when the boys truly thrived.

Today was one of the rare days when all three Winchesters were working toward a single goal. Dean wanted – more than anything – to be a hunter like their father. Because it's what he wanted, Sam was determined to do everything in his – admittedly limited, because he was still only twelve years old – power to make certain that Dean got it.

John was just glad to be having another warm body around on a hunt. It was always more efficient to have backup. He'd delayed two important years so Dean could learn what John felt he needed to know.

But tonight was the night. Tonight, Dean would become a hunter and tonight John would gain the permanent partner he had craved.

At last, the time arrived. All the preparations were done. The Impala was fully loaded and everything was finally in place.

There was just one thing left to do.

Dean was so excited that he hugged Sam, partially to ground himself. No words were needed, and no words were spoken.

When Dean walked out, John put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam, take care of your--" He caught himself. "Yourself."

Sam nodded. He closed his hand around John's wrist. The eyes that bored into John's were deadly serious ones – much too old to be looking out of a twelve-year-old's face. His voice was equally grave. "And _you – you_ take care of _my brother."_

A ribbon of ice slithered down John's spine at that order – because that's what he sensed that it _was._ He nodded and walked out of the motel room for the hunt.

Sam locked the door and set the salt lines.

Then, all that remained to do was the hardest point.

The waiting.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What seemed like an eternity later, Sam heard the Impala pull up outside the motel. He glanced out the window and saw John helping Dean from the back seat.

"....son of a ...." Sam breathed, jerking the door open as the pair limped to their room. He didn't say a word as they entered the room, just closed the door behind them and reset the salt line.

"Sammy, get the--" John began, but Sam was already bolting for the duffels to pull out their First Aid kit. He nodded. "We need to get his--"

"Move."

John glared at him. "Sam, now is _not_ the time for--"

"Move," Sam growled, those strange too-old eyes glaring furious holes into John's chest. "Or so help me, I will _move_ you _myself."_

John looked at him for a second more, then climbed off the bed. 

Sam instantly took his place, eyes skimming Dean's body and cataloguing what he could see. Then he put a warm palm onto Dean's cheek. "Dean.....hey, hey, hey. Stay with me, here. Can you do that for me? I need you to focus..."

".....hurzzz...." Dean slurred, glazed eyes roaming.

"I know. I've gotta get your clothes off, find where you're hurt."

"Legs.....back...."

Sam nodded. "Anywhere else? Did you hit your head?" Dean's head rolled a negative.

John shook his head. "I don't get it – he didn't hit his head, he swears he didn't – but he's nearly out of it! What could have caused--"

".....hurzzz...." Dean slurred again, with a little more force.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I see," he said. "Okay, Dean.... you're gonna have to stay with me, here, okay?"

Dean nodded slowly. "...do....what'cha gotta...."

"Okay, then. Here we go." He slowly peeled Dean's shirt and jeans off, groaning as the long gashes became visible.

John snorted. "It's barely even bleeding! What is going on, here?"

Sam threw a towel at him. "Wet this – sopping. Cold water."

John caught it out of reflex. "Sammy, what the --"

"It's a sensory spike, Dad!" Sam barked. "The pain triggered a major sensory spike! He needs the shock of the cold water to soothe the wounds and break the spike! And if you had ever cared enough to have learned about Dean, you'd have known this!"

"Samuel Francis Winchester, I am your father and you do not--"

"Dad!" Sam hollered, cupping his hands over Dean's ears to mute the volume. "You and I can have our pissing contest later! Right now, can we focus on Dean? Please?"

With a growl under his breath, John went to wet the towels. 

But by the time Sam got Dean's wounds cleaned out and the spike broke, sending Dean into an exhausted sleep, John was gone. He came in just after dawn, smelling like a bar and abnormally quiet, looking at Dean as if he was a cross between an alien creature and something pitiable.

It turned Sam's stomach and broke his heart at the same time.

That night seemed to cement the trio's roles in life. John became even more of a lone hunter, throwing himself into it and leaving his boys alone more and more. He was not able to deal with Dean's differences.

Sam and Dean became closer than most siblings. Dean became more and more independent, as Sam showed him over and over that he was capable of doing almost anything he set his mind to. 

And Dean returned the favour – showing Sam he could do anything he set his own mind to. With Dean's encouragement, when the time came, Sam applied to Stanford and got a full ride.

John had drifted back into their lives by then, and had begun to work on learning how to "manage" Dean's Asperger's. With Dean comfortable with John, and John seemingly able to make sure another night like that awful one didn't ever happen, Sam went on to Stanford.

But it had been a lie. At the first chance he got, John abandoned Dean while all along texting Sam from Dean's phone that _I'm okay. Dad is taking care of me._

Dean couldn't remember phone numbers, so when he got his new phone he couldn't call Sam. And he was too ashamed to admit that John was gone, so he didn't go to Stanford for him. He just survived on his own, slowly growing more and more agitated and distracted.

Until one fateful day when he was so distracted he wasn't able to pay enough attention and stepped out into the street behind a backing up car....

END


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